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I tell stories
100 words, or sometimes more

He Will Be A Pale Man

When Death comes, they said, he’ll be a pale man with long white hair, and his eyes, you will not see them.

“Why not?” I asked.

“He keeps them hidden,” my uncle said, “under the brim of his hat. The moment you see them is the moment you die.”

I didn’t believe him, but there were lots of things I didn’t believe in.

Like wearing seatbelts.

The crash was… hot, I think.

And he knocked on the window, that pale man. And he offered me his hand, and I could have refused.

But oh my Lord, he had beautiful eyes.

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